Blessed are the Peacemakers
by GypsyPriestess
Summary: Some things must wait for the perfect time... Dean/Castiel, angst, love, oooooh the feels! Also my first ever fanfic, so please let me know what you think :)


Blessed Are the Peacemakers (work in progress!)

_I claim no ownership of the characters used in this piece. All rights to Supernatural belong to the creator, Eric Kripke, as well as Warner Bros. Television and Productions. (no matter how much I might wish it otherwise!)_

_**Matthew 5:9 "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God."**_

It was time.

Castiel transported himself to the latest in the endless stream of no-tell motels to house Dean Winchester. Faster than thought, he is sitting in the (inevitable?)(ubiquitous?) hideous armchair, scanning the room in the pre-dawn darkness, until his gaze locates the rumpled bed that seems too big for the man it holds. Not that Dean is a small man, he's taller than Castiel's vessel, and when he's awake and doing _anything_, he seems larger than life. But curled into a half-fetal position, murmuring in his sleep, he seems smaller, more vulnerable, and this is the way Castiel loves seeing him the most. However, it was time, and Castiel moved to the side of the bed, and laid his hand with instinctive precision over the hand print burned into Dean's arm.

Dean came awake in a rush, knife in hand and moving. He was off the far side of the bed and scanning for danger, survival instinct stronger than the lingering hold of sleep. Castiel does not move, knowing from what feels like an eternity of such moments that unless he is willing to leave, any movement in this fragile space between sleep and true waking will result in his blood gracing Dean's knife. Dean's beautiful green eyes are nearly feral as he scans the room, flashing in the sliver of light that found it's way between the heavy light-blocking curtains. Castiel knows the instant it's safe, sees the release of tension when Dean _sees_ him, knows that there is no threat, and he dares to breathe again.

"Dammit Cas," Dean growls, his voice still sleep-ridden and rough, "Can't you knock like a normal person?"

Castiel smiles - even though Dean's asked him that question in a hundred variations, a hundred motel rooms, it never fails to amuse him. His memory roams over the past, lost for a moment in _moments_ wondering how many more there are to come, fearing this may be the last. He can feel Dean looking at him, knows he's been thinking for too long.

"I am not a _normal person_", he rasps into the protracted silence.

Dean's face is thoughtful as he sheathes his knife. He rubs his face, thinks about getting dressed - he slept in his jeans, the well loved denim was more comfortable than damn near any pajama pant he'd ever tried - and they were zipped, but not buttoned at the top, but modesty wasn't one of his hang ups, and Cas has seen him in far worse, so he slid back across the bed, barefoot, bare chested, to look more closely at the angel he calls his friend.

"What's up?"

Castiel is rocked by the simple question. So many years they've played this morning out, so many variations on a theme, but the trust implied in just two words still has the power to render him speechless. Before he can stop and think, before his friend can see it coming and shy away, he raises his hand and cradles the side of Dean's upturned face. So many words are built up in his mind, but what comes out is "_Blessed are the peacemakers_."

Confusion must be what keeps Dean from pulling away, because Dean rarely permits more than the brief, near accidental, touch. He can actually see Dean's mind working, trying to place the phrase, to parse it into a reference he understands the significance of. He wants, so badly, so much more. Damning himself thoroughly, he takes his hand away and steps back, knowing full well that Dean is only a heartbeat from lashing out from the unexpected closeness as he's done every time they get too serious, too _intimate_.

"I'm no peacemaker."

The words are choked, full of seething emotion that threatens to shatter reality. Dean is trembling, eyes slightly glazed, breath coming in ragged little pants.

"Cas, you _know_ the things I did..."

A second. Two. Three. Castiel is stunned, forgetting even that his vessel's heart needed to beat until the pain jerks him back to _now_. He collapses to the bed beside his friend. Too shaken to be concerned with personal space, he wraps his arms around Dean, once again fitting his hand into the print he left raising this bright, beautiful soul from the depths. He closes his eyes and sends a brief, heartfelt prayer to a Father he's no longer sure is listening, praying that he can find the right words.

"Dean, what you became in Hell isn't all of you. You endured beyond what any human soul could have been expected to, you held on to your _goodness_ even in the face of horror and degradation. If you had fallen, if you had truly given in, I would not have been able to carry you out, no matter my strength or the strength of my love. I would never have been able to grip you tight and raise you from Perdition. If your soul was damned of its own will, it would have slid through my fingers like water."

He feels Dean's attention, knows his friend hears him, fears that he's failed to find the right words yet again. He has to try, determined that _this time_ Dean will understand, will _know_ what it meant for an angel to hold a soul through a journey like that.

"Dean, I-"

His words are cut off by a wracking sob, as Dean slips through his arms and slides to the floor, tears rolling down his upturned face. His mouth works, and for a time, no words form, but finally, breathless and tear stained all at once, the confession flows. Dean vomits words, alternately whispering and shouting, seemingly trying to cut out Castiel's heart with the nightmare details of his sojourn in Hell. But Castiel _knows_, and Dean's words do not hurt him any more than the _knowing_ does. Dean has never _told_ him though, and that is what brings tears to his eyes, this wall between them coming down at long last. Castiel sits on the edge of the bed, a graven image, face compassionate, eyes liquid, knowing that the time to comfort his friend is not yet, not while the poison is still flowing.

It takes time to tell of forty years, even leaving out the more mundane horrors of Hell, concentrating on the "highlights", as Dean does. Dawn breaks, the day passes, and night falls. Dean's voice is hoarse, nearly gone, his eyes swollen almost shut with weeping, snot running in thick streams down his face to where he's wiped it impatiently aside with his hand, when the words finally slow.

"You see Cas, **DO YOU SEE**? I can't be a peacemaker, never be one of the _blessed_...never..."

Cas slides to the floor, gathers Dean into his arms. Dean is too exhausted to fight him, to protest, as he is cradled like a child. All he can do is look searchingly as Cas's face, a little fearful, wondering if this is prelude to being taken back to Hell. Not that he would blame Cas, it must be so _disappointing_ to know that you saved someone who wasn't worth two shits, someone who made themselves at home in Hell so...thoroughly.

Now is the time.

Castiel has Dean in his arms - not helpless, but as close as Dean ever is while conscious - and looking at him as though waiting for judgement. He lets his grace reach out, sooth away the ravages of Dean's purgative tears. He looks into those eyes, brilliant emerald now in the aftermath of so much emotion. "_Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God_. One of the most often incorrectly interpreted lines in the Bible. Dean, a peace_**maker**_ is not one who is peaceful, it's one who makes it so that others may have peace. Your whole life has been that of a peacemaker. You are a son of God. You are loved, and cherished, and I cannot, _will_ not let you go on believing otherwise." Castiel leans in then, and for the first time in an endless eternity of loneliness, kisses his beloved.

It is a chaste thing, an act of worship and devotion, somehow more holy than any prayer ever uttered by man or angel. Dean can't believe that it is for _him_, damned, broken, bleeding inside. He is frozen under the touch of Cas's lips, afraid that if he moves, Cas will realize the mistake he's made. He swears for a second that he hears the peal of a bell, but the thought fades as his body reminds him that he has to breathe, and the precious moment is broken by his shuddering breath.

Castiel could have sworn he heard the bells of Heaven ring, the ones that ring to welcome souls who are saved. He felt saved, until Dean took a deep breath like he'd been too long under water and looked up at him with wild, almost frightened, eyes. He could see the doubts, the confusion, the fear, the million and one questions that swam up in those lovely windows. Before Dean can voice any of it, Castiel shifts slightly and kisses him again, fiercely this time, letting all the ache pour through. He takes advantage of Dean's startled exhalation to drive his tongue in, seeking, tasting, exploring Deans mouth. Just when he thinks that perhaps he's gone too far, that he should stop, Dean moans low in his throat, and Castiel is no longer kissing Dean, they are kissing each other.

'God' is all Dean thinks, unable to resist anymore. All he can do now is _feel_, like his nerve endings have been stripped of all their protective skin. If Cas's first kiss sanctified him, the second wrecked him, demolished him on a cellular level, and remade him into a new image entirely. Woman after woman he'd had in his bed, since he was 16, rarely going without nightly sex unless he was badly injured. None of them ever lasted more than a few months, most no more than days, and he **never** wanted any of them as badly as he wanted this. This? No, _him_. Castiel, his Cas. He's been thinking of the angel as _his_ for a while, but it never crossed his mind to wonder precisely what he meant by it. Kissing Cas felt so damned right though, like coming home, he knows that this is what he's been waiting for, wanting without knowing, _needing_. So profound is his insight that he goes still with the shock of it. Dean can't find his voice through the searing **want**, struggles just to breath through it.

"Dean?" Castiel's voice is a whispered harshness, so many emotions clamoring for supremacy inside him. Fear is foremost as Dean turns blind-looking eyes up at him. Has he truly gone too far? Did he damage his friend somehow, push him too fast with the memory of Hell so close to the surface? "Dean, please..." Castiel pleads, not even certain what it is he's asking for. Dean's lashes sweep down, up, a long blink, and thankfully _he_ is behind his eyes again, his mind back from wherever it had gone. Castiel feels him shift, restlessly, and moves to release his hold, nearly weeping inside already, just knowing that he's ruined their friendship, their bond, by wanting too much.

He sees Cas's eyes go liquid-dark with tears, feels him letting go, and he panics. Clutching at the angel's ever-present trench coat, Dean squirms in Cas's loosened grip until he's straddling his friend's legs, in his face in a way Dean would never have been _before_. He rains feather soft kisses across Cas's forehead, down his cheeks, finally over his lips, murmuring reassurances in between. "It's okay, we're fine, I'm fine, it's okay", a litany designed to ease the horrible fear he saw rising in Cas's eyes before it can claw it's way out to hurt them. Dean knows first-hand how being afraid can make you say stupid shit you don't mean, and he won't let it happen this time. "This", he grinds out, holding Cas's face between his hands, gingerly, like he might break it. He wants so badly to have some perfect _thing_ to say, to make it all right, but the only thing running through his head is music, "Nothing else matters." He half sings it, he can't help himself, because he finally, really, _**gets**_ what the song has always been saying. "Nothing else matters," he half sings, half whispers, as he recaptures the angel's lips.

Castiel breathes. It feels like the first time he's ever drawn breath, as if the whole world is new again. He breathes in the words Dean whispers against his lips, and they are pure, and sacred, and even though he knows they come from one of Dean's favorite songs, they feel like scripture in his heart. All the fear he held leaves him as his love - his beloved - kisses him. They kiss like they are starving, like the press of lips is air or water. When they finally pull apart, his pulse is racing, his breath coming in short, dizzying gasps, and his heart feels like it is going to fly away at any moment. He meets Dean's eyes, "I love you. I've loved you since before you _were_, since before I understood what love is to a human. I've loved you _to __**Hell**_ and back again, and I will still love you when the world is long gone to whatever fate awaits it. If there is a way to keep you with me throughout eternity, beyond the end of time, I will find it." His declaration leaves him gasping, sobbing, understanding himself for the first time in his long existence.

"Shhh, don't...", Dean whispers. "Don't cry. I'm here, I'm finally here, and we're going to be alright. Just please, don't cry." He is utterly undone seeing Cas like this, he has no idea how to comfort an angel who looks as if his whole world just shattered around him. "I'm here", he says it simply, plainly, hopefully. He wraps his arms around his friend, holding him as his crying tapers off in the stuttering breathes that Dean knows so well from dealing with a thousand grieving brothers, sisters, husbands, wives on jobs. Funny how everyone is the same when they've been crying, he thinks irrelevantly. He knows the thought is the beginning of the distancing he usually does when emotions get too real, too intense, and he kicks himself mentally, because he's not going to do that to Cas. "I'm here," he says again, firmly, mostly to himself, "and I'm through running."

Castiel feels his world realign, with Dean now as it's acknowledged center. It feels right, and good. His breath calms, his heart slows back to it's normal pace. A tightness he barely knew was there, because it had been there for as long as he could remember, eased out of his chest. "_**We**_ are all right?", he asks, the question small between them, the emphasis unmistakable.

Dean nods, his sweet smile coming slowly to his face. "**We** are just fine. Better than fine. Great. But, dammit Cas, why'd you wait so long to say something?"

"It was never the time," Castiel murmurs against Deans chest. Putting a bit more space between them, he continued, "There's always been another hunt, another emergency, another person needing you more than I did, I thought. I didn't want to take your mind away from what you wanted, _needed_ to be doing. If I said something at the wrong time and it distracted you on the hunt, or in a fight, and you got hurt, I'd never be able to forgive myself. Besides, I was never able to convince myself that you would even hear me out, and the idea that you might run from me...hurt." The last word was a whisper, as soft as a teardrop hitting the floor.

Dean's heart stopped. He knows it had to have, that's the only reason his chest would burn so badly. It couldn't possibly be simply because the thought of how much pain Cas had been in for years (_millenia_, a small voice at the very back of his consciousness whispered) made him feel like he should be back on a rack in Hell. He was a selfish, unworthy, mean, egotistical son of a bitch and he knew now just how pathetic a human being he was. He had never once thought, never noticed, never cared for what the angel felt. How could Cas love _him_?!

Castiel watched the clouds of thought skitter across Dean's face, saw the moment Dean's self-doubt hit him. "Dean, look at me." It was an order, and Dean was raised to follow orders. Piercing green eyes met angelic blue, as Castiel's grace shone out. "That I loved you in silence was my _**choice**_, not your _fault_. That I loved you before you existed was divine writ, not anything _you_ did. That you never knew or guessed what I felt was because I never gave you any sign that you could grasp onto. **Do not** blame yourself for what you could not have made right. Not for me. You do that to yourself enough when it comes to the people you cannot save, the monsters you cannot stop. I will not have you eating away at yourself over this. Even an angel cannot know what is kept hidden by an angel." He willed Dean to believe him, to accept the judgement of blamelessness. He was rewarded for his eloquence with the last of Dean' tension fading, his tight-set shoulders slumping just a bit, a slow smile touching his mouth. Small things, but Castiel knew Dean better than anyone ever had, and he knew that he had won, that **now** they were 'okay'. He stood suddenly, effortlessly rising despite Dean's weight, turning in mid-motion to drop Dean to the bed.

Dean always manages to forget that Cas is more than human until he does something like this. As he hits the bed, feeling breathless, his quickened pulse is more anticipation than fear, even though it's always a little intimidating to realize that the little stock broker looking guy in the trench could probably bench press the _building_ you're in and not break a sweat. Before he's fully recovered from the shock of it, Cas sprawls out on the bed beside him. "Okay-" the word comes out a little breathless, so he gulps and tries again, "Okay, you love me. And I...," the pause is swollen with unspoken words, ripe with the possibility of fearful retreat, of sly evasion, of typical Dean Winchester emotional-moment withdrawal, but the words won't be stopped this time. "I love you. I don't know how or why or for how long or where it's going or whether it's going to freak me out later but I love you and I may not be sure I deserve to have you love me, but I'm 200% sure that you deserve to know that you are loved in return." Like a burst dam, his word flow through his lips with no censorship, no thought left of protecting himself. This is truth, pure, and right, and all he can really offer his angel. The beautiful, maddening man looking at him right now with a shit-eating grin the size of Texas. The _being_ whose presence he misses when it's not there, whose confusion over simple slang makes him laugh, who makes him feel safe in a way he hasn't felt since the night his mom died. He rolls to his side and props himself on an elbow so he can look Cas in the eyes. "Cas..._Castiel_...Shield of God," he pauses when he sees Cas's eyes widen at that last, "Yeah, I looked it up, way back when you first told us your name. I don't know why, but it felt important. _You_ felt important, even back then. Sometimes, I wondered why you weren't 'hammer of god' or 'sword of god' or something like that, you seemed so aggressive. But I see it now. Through it all, you were protecting me, _shielding _me_, _even from yourself_. _And now, I do feel _**blessed**__." _Words failed him then, and he laid his head on Cas's chest. He feels good, but at the same time he's exhausted, hollowed out.

Castiel is reeling from Dean's openness, from the totally unexpected _giving_ of it. He never imagined that this would be so easy, though most would not call a day spent tripping down Hell memory lane and riding an emotional roller coaster easy. But, considering the result, that at the end of it all, Dean Winchester - righteous man, hunter, beloved, and possibly most emotionally repressed person on the planet - let go all caution and freely admitted loving, it was amazingly easy. He wraps he arms around Dean, feels his beloved's body begin to go lax with sleep as the day catches up to him at last. Tomorrow would likely bring it's own challenges, but for now the angel simply basks in the closeness he never allowed himself before, and revels a bit in the knowledge that he was right.

It _was_ time.


End file.
